


Treat You Well

by C4t1l1n4



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Big sleep vibes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Jaskier | Dandelion Deserves Better, Just writing this made me wanna sleep, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25384075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4t1l1n4/pseuds/C4t1l1n4
Summary: Jaskier get a pampered bath like he fucking deservesFollow up to 'You Get What You Deserve' where Geralt promises to give Jaskier a bath once he's not a wolf anymoreCan be read by itself though
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 280





	Treat You Well

**Author's Note:**

> 100% fluff
> 
> Barely edited

It’s been a long few weeks. 

They’ve been on the road, roughing it in the wilderness, sleeping on the hard forest floor for two weeks. They’ve passed 3 towns since the last one they’ve slept in, but each one has ranged from either simply unfriendly to completely malevolent towards Witchers. Jaskier still has a bruise on his back from a week ago, where a rock had hit him, as the angry townspeople stoned them as they hurried through. 

When the next town comes into sight, Jaskier feels like he could cry, though he isn’t sure whether it’s out of joy or fear of being rejected again. 

“I swear to the gods,” Jaskier threatens halfheartedly “If this town doesn’t let us sleep in their inn overnight, I might actually punch someone.” He pauses, “Or worse: cry.”

This earns him a huff of laughter from Geralt, who sits atop Roach, leading the way. “If they don’t like Witchers, you can always spend the night in the inn without me, drum up us some coin,” Geralt suggests. 

Jaskier lets out an offended gasp, screeching to a halt in the middle of the path. Geralt pauses as well, looking down at him with a quirked eyebrow. “You think so little of me?” Jaskier demands, “You think that I would abandon you in the forest just to have a soft place to sleep?” 

Geralt shrugs with a hum. 

“I am wounded, dearheart, absolutely wounded.” The bard places his hand dramatically over his chest. 

Geralt nudges Roach back into motion. “C’mon, the next town is close.” 

Jaskier huffs but follows. “You are right though,” He muses. “We’re running dangerously low on coin.” 

———  
This town is - thankfully - very receptive to Witchers. So much so, Geralt was bombarded with 3 contracts as soon as he found a stable to leave Roach in. They step into the inn and people cheer, and Jaskier lets out a sigh of relief. The innkeeper gladly exchanges them as many nights stay as they want, as long as Jaskier plays and Geralt takes the contract. They readily agree. 

With a full stomach, Jaskier happily pulls out his lute and dances between the tables, full of energy despite how drained he felt. He plays until it’s dark, before excusing himself and heading up to their room. He’s surprised to find Geralt in there, sharpening his weapons. 

“I thought you’d be out on contract already.” 

Geralt pauses, looking up from his work. “You look terrible.” He says instead of answering Jaskier’s question. 

Jaskier just sighs, placing his lute in its case. “You wound me, beloved.” But there’s no heat behind his words. He’s exhausted. He debates simply shoving off all his clothes and falling face-first into the mattress, but Geralt stands, placing his hands on the bard’s shoulders. 

“I ordered a bath earlier.” 

“Good for you,” Jaskier replies, not quite catching on to what the Witcher was implying. 

Geralt huffs. “You should take a bath. I’ll help you.” 

Jaskier nods and lets himself be coaxed away from the promising pull of the soft bed and over to the wooden tub. “You owe me,” Jaskier points out.

Geralt hums, helping Jaskier remove his clothes. “I do.” 

Jaskier leans against the Witcher’s chest, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m tired.” He complains quietly. 

Geralt places a tender kiss to the top of the bard’s head. “I know, Jask. I know.” He helps him into the tub, and Jaskier lets himself relax into the water, which the Witcher has re-warmed with Igni. “Let me take care of you.”

Jaskier doesn’t say anything but lets out a small noise as Geralt kneels behind him, running his soapy fingers through chestnut locks of fine hair. Eyes-half lidded, out of tiredness and the pleasant feeling on his head, Jaskier lets his head fall forward. Geralt uses this as his opportunity to rinse out his hair. 

“Close your eyes,” He commands gently. 

“No problem,” Jaskier laughs softly, eyes shutting with an appreciative hum. 

Geralt moves onto his back, gently scrubbing a fortnight’s worth of dust and grime from the bard’s skin. He frowns when comes across the large bruise on his lower back, “What’s this?” He asks, taking caution to be gentler in that area, so he doesn’t hurt his bard anymore. 

“Hmm?” Jaskier forces his eyes open again. Geralt gently pokes at the skin nearby, as if to emphasize his point. “Oh, that.” Jaskier yawns. “Some of those people just have really good aim, I guess.” 

It’s the nonchalant way that Jaskier says it, Gerald thinks, that really upsets him. The way that Jaskier states it like it’s a fact, that it’s expected, that it’s not a big deal. His grip on the cloth tightens, squeezing all the water out of it. Jaskier takes this as something else. 

“Oh, are we done?” He asks, trying to get to his feet. 

“Almost,” Geralt says, pressing Jaskier to relax once more. He finishes cleaning the rest of his bard rather quickly - he doesn’t need Jaskier falling asleep in the bath after all - and gently coaxes him to his feet, wrapping him in a fluffy towel and scooping him off his feet. 

It’s a testament to how tired Jaskier is because he doesn’t squeak or say anything about how romantic this is, or tease Geralt for being an utter sap, but instead, simply curls in closer, letting his eyes fall shut once again. He brings him to the bed, drying him off and dressing him in his small clothes, before settling him on the side of the bed. 

“Mmm, did I get your clothes wet? Sorry.” Jaskier says, eyes squinting at the wet patches on Geralt’s black shirt. 

Geralt hates that, even this tired - too tired to tease and poke fun - Jaskier apologizes. Instead, he resolves to shuck off his shirt and place it over Jaskier’s head, the black fabric swallowing him. “There,” Geralt says fondly. “Now it’s your wet shirt.” 

“Thank you.”

Geralt fights a smile. The bard looks good in his clothes. “Sleep now.” He shoves Jaskier back onto the mattress, pressing a short kiss to his lips before settling the blanket over top. The bard shifts around to get comfortable, before finally drifting off to sleep. 

Geralt goes over to his swords, continuing to sharpen them and checking over his inventory to prepare for the next days' hunts. He does this for about an hour before he hears movement and glances over to find Jaskier watching him. He’s clearly still sleep-addled, his clouded cornflower eyes fixing him with a bleary stare. 

“Too loud?” Geralt asks. 

Jaskier yawns but doesn’t say anything, reaching out towards the Witcher and motioning him to come closer. Geralt huffs out a laugh and complies. He shoves off his boots and quickly dusts off his pants, so they’re not too dirty, before joining Jaskier under the blanket. The bard immediately fits himself against Geralt, lying half on top of him, and half against his side. Geralt runs his fingers through chestnut locks of hair, and Jaskier lets out an appreciative hum. 

“G’night, dear.” Jaskier mumbles, lips brushing against his skin. 

“Good night, Jask.”


End file.
